


John Lennon: Plugged In and Logged Out

by no_need_to_be_alone



Category: The Beatles
Genre: AU, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Friendship/Love, George's cancer relapse was either prevented or he survived, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Non-binary character, OC, Other, Platonic Relationships, au where John survived his shooting, mentions of depression and anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5563606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_need_to_be_alone/pseuds/no_need_to_be_alone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Lennon, fearing for his life and the lives of his loved ones, goes into hiding after his "death". He remained in London under an assumed name, watching his legacy from the sidelines.</p><p>But now, he's not alone.</p><p>Enter Mel, a person of many talents and interests (including the Beatles) whose online activity caught John's attention.</p><p>"Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."<br/>-John Lennon</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Lennon: Plugged In and Logged Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so if you recognize this story from deviantArt by googiesmom, don't worry, it's still me! I felt that the chapters I'd written to start this amazing story were not up to the standards that I have today, and have decided to rewrite a lot of the earlier stuff to suit my newer stuff.
> 
> Up until chapter 18, these will be re-edited versions of the original story, and then the usual updates will occur.
> 
> Comments, kudos and critiques are greatly appreciated!

    2005 had held two major events in Mel's life: The creation of YouTube, and meeting John Lennon. The latter event starting sometime in September of 2005.  
  
    She had taken a break from writing yet another paper on Oscar Wilde and began sifting her way through all her typical social media websites, her final destination being her blog. It was where she posted her fictional works, mainly consisting of pieces that were a few thousand words apiece, with no particular genre as a preference. She also wrote stories, with the only reason she used "stories" instead of "fanfiction" being that she was too embarrassed to admit that was what it was. Either way, Mel was a decent writer in her own eyes, and had gathered a bit of a following online for some of her works. One of these fans was named Gibson.

  
    Mel had first met Gibson when he commented on one of her stories, praising her good writing and the hard work that had clearly gone into it. She sent back a short modest reply, and began to look into what he did. Gibson seemed to specialize in writing short poetry in a confusing, babbling style that had all of Lewis Carroll's imagery, but the nonsensical direction of a Douglas Adams book. They began to talk about their respective works, and their writer's brains began to produce ideas together. Mel had never had a writing partner, and their co-written works were received well.  
  
    Their online correspondence grew more personal, and most of Mel's spare time that wasn't eaten up by university was getting to know Gibson. Obviously, his real name wasn't Gibson, since a widely accepted truth of the Internet was that any personal information had a 50/50 chance of being made up. He had given himself the name after his favorite brand of acoustic guitar. In turn, he referred to Mel as Strat, for her maroon Fender Stratocaster. From what was said in passing, his slang seemed to be more Southern than Mel's own, which came from Yorkshire and Leeds, and he was at least ten years older than her, because he could remember the day John Lennon had been shot. It also seemed that Gibson was an introvert, because he never mentioned any current friends or partners, just old mates or family.

    A chime from her laptop signaled an incoming message from Gibson.

 **Gibso** **n:** Hey Strat. Saw you were online

 **Stratocaster:** Yeah, I'm here. Just saw these people that were insulting Yoko

 **Gibson:** Did you do anything about it?

 **Stratocaster:** What can you do?

 **Gibson:** Nothing. Most people on the internet are fucking idiots

 **Stratocaster:** Yes. My point exactly

 **Gibson:** That's mean

 **Stratocaster:**  You know I don't mean you <3  
  
**Stratocaster:** Just wait a minute, I'm getting supper from the oven

    She left and with a bowl of fried rice in hand, returned to see another message for her.

 **Gibson:** ....Can I trust you with a really big secret?

Mel's stomach dropped. Messages like this never seemed to bode well.

 **Stratocaster:**  Of course you can. Who would I tell?

 **Gibson:** The internet. Anyone who would listen. Can I trust you?

 **Stratocaster:** I swear. The only person I could tell is James, and he wouldn't care. Besides, you know you can trust me just in asking me if I can trust you. Basic psychology, Gib

 **Gibson:** Would you believe me if I told you who I really was?

 **Stratocaster:** Depends.

 **Gibson:** Do you promise not to tell, or pass out?

 **Stratocaster:** Why would I do that?

 **Stratocaster:** ...You there, Gib?

 **Gibson:**  Call me John

 **Gibson:** John Lennon....

  
    Mel blinked, and squinted at her screen to make sure she was reading correctly before typing.

 **Stratocaster:**  I don't believe you.

 **Gibson:** You should, because it's the truth....

 **Stratocaster:** How the hell could you be John Lennon? He's dead. Shot.

 **Gibson:** He didn't hit my heart. It was mainly my right shoulder and the lung, but he got me as I was turning around, so my left side got a few grazes

 **Stratocaster:**  He's dead. John's dead

 **Gibson:** I'm not. I should know. I've hidden here in London for almost thirty years.

 **Gibson:** You'd know me if you saw me. That was one of the reasons I unconsciously befriended you. I think I want someone to know.  
  
**Stratocaster:** Why me?  
  
**Gibson:** You seem like you'd understand. No one else I've met online can't look past their own nose. I actually thought you were a lot older when I first read your stuff

    Mel couldn't even react to Gibson's words. It was ludicrous to even suggest. John Lennon, alive, and no one knew? Someone must really want to mickey taken out on her.

 **Stratocaster:** Again, why me?

 **Gibson:** I just found you one day. I didn't know about the whole fiction thing, but you're really good. The stuff you write is more accurate than some of our biographies, and don't be modest. It's true. You're better at painting a picture of us than some of our closest friends could

 **Stratocaster:**  Stop telling me this 

 **Gibson:** It's true, I promise.

 **Stratocaster:** Big news from a man who is pretending to be a dead man in bargain for a laugh or two.

 **Gibson:** I'm not lying, and you have to believe me. Please.

 **Stratocaster:** How can I? This is an insane possibility.

 **Gibson:** It happened. I want to believe you can keep this secret.

 **Stratocaster:** What secret? You're just fucking with me.

 **Gibson:** No, and I can give you proof. I'll send you a picture from my computer. I took it a few months ago.

 **Gibson:**  Just wait a moment.

    Mel leaned back, running a hand through her short, quiffed hair. Gibson must have gotten hacked or something by a conspiracy nut. She fully anticipated some shoddy shopped photo; the type that seemed to permeate every corner of the web, no matter the topic.  
  
    She opened up her Email to see an attachment from Gibson.

     _Here you go, Strat. Be prepared to eat your words._

    She quickly downloaded the photo and opened it. Her mouth went slack; she felt her insides churn sickeningly.  
  
    An older man who seemed to be his late fifties had taken a photo of himself in a bathroom mirror with a rather clunky digital camera. He had shaggy auburn hair that grazed the tips of his ears, and she could see a few spots near the roots that gleamed silver. His bangs were swept up and away carelessly, with curly locks falling down into his eyes. A pair of aviator glasses were perched on his long, pointy nose. Not quite the signature Lennon shades, but very close. More... dad-ish. The quality of the photo wasn't high enough for her to get a good look at his eyes, but it was a safe bet to say that they were narrowed, colored with a warm brown that could show mischief and kindness within the literal blink of an eye.  
  
    She leaned in closer to her computer and automatically switched on a mindset that was equal parts Beatles fan and Sherlock Holmes. She knew John Lennon would be sixty-four at the moment, but he looked at least ten years younger than that. He had crows feet around his eyes, more forehead wrinkles than before, as expected, and he had jowls, but not as big as Paul's. He wore a faded pair of blue jeans and a black sweater. The time stamp on the photo told her it was taken in January of that year.  
  
    There was no doubt who it was, no matter what argument Mel could make. She knew that face as well as that of her friends, and there was only so much you could look like someone without familial connections.  
  
    Although her stomach was clenched, she had to smile. She'd imagined many times over what her mysterious friend really looked like. Hell, there had been a pretty good chance Gibson was actually a female, but she could never expect _this._

         **Stratocaster:**  hey i'm back

         **Gibson:** And?

         **Stratocaster:** ....

         **Stratocaster:** you're him        

         **Gibson:** Yep.

         **Stratocaster:** why tell me?

        **Gibson:** You're my only real friend, Strat. And now, one of a handful of people that know I survived that night.  
  
**Gibson:** I know I can trust you.  
  
_My only real friend._ Those words made her heart sink like a barrel of rocks. All these years, and she was his only friend. Someone he'd met a year ago, and she was all he had. The weight of what she'd just been told crashed down on her being, bringing tears to her eyes. A pain in her right index finger alerted her to the fact that she'd been chewing on the nail, and was now bleeding. Her hand fell heavily onto her keyboard.  
  
**Stratocaster:** lh;  
   
**Gibson:** What?

 **Stratocaster:** sorry i bashed the keyboard  
  
**Stratocaster:**  what do i  
  
**Stratocaster:** what do i call you

 **Gibson:** John is fine

 **Stratocaster:** k

         **Gibson:** You doing okay? You're not typing like usual. No capitals.  
  
    Mel blinked, trying to rid the tunnel vision and the tears from her eyes. Some faraway part of her mind was responding to what Gibso- No. John. What John said. She felt her fingers slowly type out an answer.  
  
        **Stratocaster:** i dont know what to feel  
  
**Gibson:** It's a lot to take in, right?  
  
**Stratocaster:** yeah

 **Stratocaster:**  is there anything I can do to help?  
  
**Gibson:** Just for now, be here. Keep being my friend.  
  
**Stratocaster:**  ok  
  
**Gibson:** Thanks. You have no idea what this means to me.  
  
    The fog in Mel's brain seemed to clear up, and she began to type a concise response to the recent revelations.  
**  
**         **Stratocaster:** John I  
  
**Stratocaster:** shit sorry this is gonna be really long  
  
**Stratocaster:** I'm sorry for all the shit I'm sure you had to go through. I'm not gonna ask you why you did it, and I totally get it if you don't want to talk about something. If you ever feel that way, PLEASE tell me. But not right now. This is so much. Too much for me to even explain, although I'm sure you can work out why I might be a bit... awkward or reserved for a bit. I need a bit of time to... absorb all this. I am beyond honored that you chose to confide in me, and I swear I'll never tell a soul, but you have to understand this is a lot.  
  
**Gibson:** Alright. I understand completely.

 **Gibson:**  Thank you so much.  
  
**Gibson has changed their name to Johnny**

 **Stratocaster:**  If you are who you say you are, then this is nothing compared to what you've done for me.  
**  
**         **Stratocaster:** Goodnight, John.  
  
**Gibson:** Night, Strat.

 **You have logged off.  
**  
    Mel leaned back in her chair, running her hands through her raven locks, a part of her not believing her eyes, the other accepting every word. She studied John's photo again, really raking over the whole photo, and giving every detail her attention. The absence of a wedding ring was the most glaring detail, but she knew there was a slim chance she would get an answer as to why. He looked a little thin, but nowhere near his macro diet he had been on before his death   
  
    Not his death. John wasn't dead. John Lennon was not dead.  
  
    She knew she should have been immensely relieved by the news, but it brought more anxiety, and the urge to hug her... friend? John Lennon was her friend? No matter how many times she repeated it, out loud, and in her head, it bounced back like a forged cheque, rattling around in her skull and losing all meaning.  
  
    _This won't change anything_ , she told herself, washing her face for bed. _It's still the same guy. A lot makes sense now, actually. The friends he mentioned were usually the guys, and the kids were his sons. Christ, he must miss everyone so fucking much._  
  
    As she prepared for bed, Mel's thoughts drifted around John like the moons of a planet. It beyond lucky and unlucky that he had chosen her to be his confidant. On one hand, she had over a year's interaction with one of her biggest idols. On the other hand, he'd read what she had written about him. Although nothing was too harsh regarding her opinion of his less mature or even decent moments, it was still her interpretation and occasional generalization of him.  
  
    Feeling her anxiety pop up a notch, she turned her computer on again and hastily typed to John, squinting as she had not bothered to put on her glasses.  
  
**Stratocaster:** Completely forget anything I wrote about you or the Beatles for both of our sakes. Shit's embarrassing  
  
**Stratocaster:** Also sorry if anything I wrote offended you since yknow  
  
**Stratocaster:** I'm not you.  
  
**Stratocaster:** And I was a shitty teen when I wrote some of that  
  
**Stratocaster:** So yeah  
  
**Stratocaster:** Sorry, sir.  
  
    She turned the screen off, only to be forced to turn it on again as several chimes told her John had replied.  
  
**Johnny:** Don't worry about it. Like I said, you're a great writer. Better than me by leagues.  
  
**Johnny:** And your totally warranted criticisms on how shitty I was are fair and blunt. I like to think I'm not that person anymore.  
  
**Johnny:** Also, you think you regret writing stories? I've got PLATINUM RECORDS I'd kill to erase from existence.   
  
**Johnny:** And remember: I too, was a shitty teen, and like to think that I've grown up into a shitty old man  
  
**Johnny:** Don't call me Sir. I may be old, but not THAT old. And I sure as hell don't deserve the respect or prestige of being called Sir.  
  
**Johnny:** Now please, go to bed. I don't want you to stay bushy eyed and wide tailed over me.  
  
    A smile had crept across Mel's face. She could get used to this. A few hints to the legend that oftentimes obscured the man, but still the same guy she'd known for a year. Her inner English Lit student couldn't help but love the wide-eyed, bushy-tailed joke. Very à la 'A Hard Day's Night'.  
  
    With only 'k' as an answer to John's request, Mel turned off (and muted) her computer.  
  
    As sleep claimed her buzzing mind, Mel wondered what John's voice sounded like, and how his singing voice now compared to his old one.


End file.
